Mercy on a School Bus

You know, I normally pride myself on my good memory. But I’m sitting here, racking my brain, trying to figure out who played Molly Pitcher in the Fairbrook Elementary School Fourth Grade Musical Production of Tall Tales and Heroes. For some reason, I had it stuck in my mind that it was Pam Turner, but now, I’m second-guessing myself and thinking it was Christina Parillo. I don’t know how I got the two mixed up.

As hazy as my memory may be on that fact, there are a couple of things I certainly do remember about that fantastic chorus production. Like the fact that Josh Harenberg was John Henry, the man who could beat the machine. Actually, Josh wasn’t really John Henry. It’d take a lot of makeup to turn a skinny white fourth grader into a hulking black man. But Josh sang some sort of song about John Henry. I still remember the lyrics, which went:

John Henry was a man
John Henry long and lean
John Henry was the man who could
Beat the machine!

Josh got to sing those lines, which were the coolest lines in the whole play because of that strong drum beat at the end of the third line. At that point, we’d all stomp our feet, and the bam would be really pronounced and very cool. And Josh was the star of that song, with his little checkered neckerchief and conductor’s hat.

So here's why I’m trying to figure that obscure, meaningless fact out: last Saturday I opened up my email to find that Pam Turner had "friended" me on Facebook.

I think that with the exception of my parents, Pam Turner is the person in the world who I have known the longest. I was trying to remember when exactly I met her, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. I got back as far as fourth grade choir with Mrs. Owens. For some reason, in fourth grade choir we sang an exorbitant amount of songs about Jewish festival customs (Spin the dreidel, light the menorah). But other than those memories, I couldn’t go back much further.

The point is I’ve known Pam for a really long time. I have yearbooks signed by her dating back to 1985. I rode the bus with her for 12 years. I got confirmed with her. Pam and I have been through a lot. It’s funny how as we reflect on our lives, there are certain moments that stand out like freeze frames. Sometimes, those moments aren’t even that important, in retrospect. But somehow, they got stuck in your mind, and become some of the most important memories of your life.

It was a warm April day in 1990. I was an 8th grader at Herman K. Ankeney Junior High School. After the final bell of the day rang, I exited my seventh period class, which was English with Mary Sue Gardetto. To this day, I still consider Mrs. Gardetto the finest teacher I’ve ever had in my entire life. But as great as she may have been, she was no match for a Friday afternoon. I bolted out of class and hurried to my locker. I hastily undid my lock, grabbed my math book and The Diary of Anne Frank (which I was already behind in), and reached for my new jacket.

And I smiled as I put on my new Nike windbreaker.

For some reason, clothes always were of exaggerated importance in junior high. I suppose it was because when you’re in junior high, you don’t really know who you are, so everyone relies even more on external appearances because things internal were changing too rapidly. I don’t know. But the bottom line was that this was the coolest thing I owned. It was a purple, hot pink and white Nike windbreaker that my dad had bought me. I didn't own many things that were really cool, but I loved that jacket. It had the Nike swoosh symbol on the right side. It was, by far, my favorite article of clothing.

I filed out of the gray tiled main exit of the school, and waited underneath the giant concrete overhang for my bus to come. Finally, bus 42 rolled up, and I waited in the long line to get on. The windows had all been snapped down by the time I got on, and the seats were mostly filled. I slowly made my way to the back of the bus. There was one speaker in the back corner of the bus. I even remember the song that was playing. It was Bell Biv Devoe's "Poison."

I remember because Jason, a hotshot ninth grader who played basketball, was singing along to the words. Jason. Went by the name of Jay. In my life, I have yet to encounter a person who thought more of himself than Jay did. And he let everyone know – in no uncertain terms – how great he was. Most of the time, he accomplished this by putting other people down. Every day, on the way home from school, he'd unleash some foul tirade against some poor soul, for whatever reason it might be. He was like a vicious Jay Leno back there, perched at the back of the bus on the seat reserved for only the coolest of the cool.

The only mode of survival was to come underneath his radar. To not call attention to yourself. This was easy for most people. But not me. If there's one thing that will get you noticed in junior high, it's being fat. And I was fat. That alone was enough to bring the insults and a tireless inundation of fat jokes.

There was another problem, though. As I got on the bus, I noticed that Jason was wearing the exact same jacket as me. Of all the jackets in the world, we'd bought the same one.

I looked for a seat, but most of the front ones were already filled. I was already near the rear wheels, when Jason saw me. I watched his face turn from his braces-laden grin to a sneer instantly as he recognized his stylish jacket on the fat kid from the 8th grade.

"No good can come of this," I thought to myself as I quickly looked around for a seat. I couldn't find one. I felt as though the entire world was looking at me.

"Hey, Jay, he's got your jacket," someone said. Suddenly, I knew my worst fears were going to be realized. I was standing in the middle of the bus, and I might as well have been wearing a bulls eye.

"Hey, fat ass, why you wearing my jacket?" Jason jeered.

The bus erupted in laughter and I felt my stomach sink. I just stood there, my book bag hanging from my limp arm. I wanted to curl up and die. Calling attention to yourself in junior high was bad enough, but getting negative attention was the absolute worst. I looked around frantically for a place to sit.

"I didn’t know beached whales needed jackets," Jason said, as the bus once again rang with laughter.

"My jacket is Nike," he continued. "Tieche’s is made by Ace Parachute company."

I looked around in almost desperation, trying to find a place to hide from the glares. Suddenly, I looked down at an empty seat in front of me. It hadn't been there before, I didn't think. But that was only because Pam hadn't scooted over.

"Sit here," Pam said to me.

I sat down as Jay's monologue continued. Epithet after epithet rained down as I ducked my head and tried to melt into the seat. Another outburst of laughter came from the back of the bus at my expense. My cheeks burned hot with shame.

I was utterly humiliated. I looked over at Pam. I knew her from church. She and I were in Mr. Duke's 8th grade science class together (my, how that man loved feldspar). We knew each other, which made this incident even that much more difficult. I looked at her as if to say, "I'm sorry you have to sit with me." I knew what it was like to be associated in any way with the object of Jason’s derisive comments.

But when I looked at Pam, I didn't see any embarrassment in her face. She looked at me, and whispered, so that only I could hear.

"Don't listen to them, David."

Pam was one of the popular kids. She ran around with the cheerleaders and the popular crowd. I didn't. I was one of the geeks who didn't really belong anywhere. I certainly wasn't on the same rung of the social ladder. And yet, she still said that to me.

"Don't listen to them, David."

She had done the unthinkable in junior-high terms. She had been nice to the fat kid who was being made fun of by Jason.

Pam probably doesn’t even remember that moment. But for me, it is forever emblazoned on my memory. I have thought about it countless times in my life, and each time, it reminds me of how I felt at that moment, and what a few simple words did to my wounded spirit. Beneath the torrents of insults, I found refuge in her kind words.

Why do I remember that? Well, I guess when you're fat, you remember who was nice to you when you were fat because you know that those people were genuinely kind. I remember those people vividly because it's a short list. Pam and Brad Grimm and Chuck Grissom. Those three were, and always will be, heroes to me.

I don't know if I have ever made mention of this to anyone. Partially because it's not a moment I want to share. For a long while, it was a moment I wanted to keep to myself. It'd be impossible to explain the significance of it to anyone, anyway.

But I cherish that memory. In fact, that seemingly insignificant moment on a yellow elementary bus on that spring day was one of the kindest things that anyone has ever done for me in my life.

I've always felt – and probably always will feel – a loyalty toward Pam because of that one moment. She showed her true character in that moment – and it was a character that is rare in this world. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that behind that super-pretty, really popular girl was a person that wasn't stuck up or swept away by the fame of fleeting high school glory like so many others. It was a person who said to a sad, fat kid.

"Don’t listen to them."

I only hope that at some point in my life, I can say words to someone that are half that kind.

Reconciliation Video

A video featuring a cool story that I got to be a part of.

You can view it below or download it here.

Chaos Theory, Dinosaurs, and Feminine Hygiene Products

Shown here, the so-called "butterfly effect" in which small variations of the initial condition of a dynamic system may produce large variations in the long term behavior of the system. This is also called "Chaos theory."

One of my favorite books of all time is Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton. The novel (which was made into a mildly successful movie) is based upon the idea of Chaos Theory. In the novel, mathematician Ian Malcolm's interpretation of chaos theory asserts that Jurassic Park, as a complex physical system, will progress in a drastically unpredictable manner that will inevitably result in disaster, regardless of the precautions that have been taken. The idea is that a series of little tiny unknown variables add up and compound upon each other until the outcome seems completely random (and altogether tragic).

This is exactly what happened to me Monday morning. Let me explain.


The First Variable: The Early-rising Daughter
It was 7:14 a.m., and since Jaelle had decided to wake up at 6:06 a.m., I figured "Hey, why not kill a few birds with one stone. Whilst everyone is sleeping, I can take Jaelle, who is happy, fed and highly portable, and go grocery shopping."

The Second Variable: The List
After making my way successfully through the produce aisle, getting everything I needed, I happened to peer down further at the list. To my horror, the list included not only groceries, but also a list of products that my wife needed. They are products that only women need. And they are products which I - as an only child who had no sisters - am still, to this day, embarrassed to talk about or mention. Let's just say they rhyme with "Taxi fad."

The Third Variable: My General Discomfort
For being a really loud guy, there are certain things that make me really uncomfortable. For example, I don't like the word "panties." It is my third least favorite word in the English language, behind only "pimple" and "moist." So when I went to the grocery store, I had no idea I was going to be buying panty liners and maxi pads. This is like asking me to to to Kragen and buy the correct socket wrench set to repair a Dodge Hemi Engine. I don't have the first clue what to look for.

The Fourth Variable: Massive Selection
It would be simple enough if there were only one type of maxi pad and one type of panty liner. Then, I could just rapidly cruise by the area, grab the product, throw it into the cart, and go on to the Doritos. But there was at least 15 feet of shelf space devoted to these products.

I scanned the selection, trying to figure out what to buy. One of the products had the word "jumbo" on it. I avoided that, because no woman wants to be associated with the word "jumbo" ever. I knew that.

Some of them were scented. I didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Some of them offered "maximum protection" while others offered "maximum comfort."

Oh crap.

Of those two, which is the most important variable? Protection or comfort?

Then I got really confused. Some of them had wings. Wings? Wings? Are these going to be flying around aisle 9? Do I need to get a butterfly net to chase these things down? I broke into a cold sweat.

The Fifth Variable: Raw Fear
After standing in front of this aisle for a good 8 minutes, I began to panic. I realized that I simply didn't have near enough information to make this decision. And the longer I stood there, the more afraid I became that someone would notice me. It's like when your kid is going to the bathroom in a public restroom, and you're there, just hanging around outside the stall and someone walks in and looks at you. And you feel the need to say something like, "Are you okay in there, SON." Just so you dont' get reported as a weirdo bathroom stalker, or something. That's the kind of fear I had. I was half expecting to hear someone come over the intercom and say:

Attention Shoppers: Will the clearly nervous and agitated man in the Tampon Aisle please move away so that our other shoppers can have access to the feminine hygiene products. Thank you.

The Sixth Variable: The Text Message
All of which led me to take out my phone and text the following message to my wife:

"Hey. If you're up, call me. I have some questions about maxi pads."

The Seventh Variable: The Lack of Omars in my Life
According to my cell phone address book, I don't know anyone whose name (last or first) begins with "O." No Oscars. No Orenthals. No Oswalds, Olivers, Olivias (Newton John or otherwise), Obadiahs, or Octaviuses. Nothing. My list of friends includes no one with an "O" name.

Which means, therefore, that my cell phone address book goes directly from the "N" people to the "P" people.

The Eighth Variable: The Address Book
Therefore, my phone's address book contact list goes like this:

• Nicki Kozma (my cousin)
  
• Nicole (my wife)
  
• Pastor Bill Cell (my boss)

The Ninth Variable: Being a Large Man
I have large hands and my cell phone's buttons are quite small, meaning it's easy for me to press a button I don't mean to press.

The Final Outcome: Chaos
All of which led to that text being sent, not to my wife, but to Pastor Bill. My boss. At 7:14 a.m.

*sigh*

The Birth of My First Daughter

As told by her father, David Tieche

Friday, July 20th, 2007
6:51 p.m. – Nicole's mother (Terry) and step-dad (Rex) arrive at the Tieche household. Terry had been out at a conference in Denver, and took Rex with her and then the two of them drove across country, up to tour Napa and then down to San Jose.

8:30 p.m. – Dave has the idea for the entire family to take a walk down the street to Baskin Robbins for "Dollar Cone Fridays." Turns out it’s "Dollar Cone Tuesdays" and only at participating locations, which this one was not. The bill is $12.50.

10:30 p.m. – Nicole, Terry and Dave sit down to watch an episode of Frasier. That show always makes Dave laugh out loud. Best line from the show. Niles walks in and says, “Sorry I’m late Frasier. This whole conflict at work has really gotten to me. You know me, normally I’m unflappable.” To which Frasier responds, “Niles, if you were any more flappable, we’d have to lower you to half-staff for Memorial Day.” Dave silently mourns the loss of such witty dialogue in the modern world.

10:32 p.m. – Nicole brings her laptop over to the couch to enter in, in her words, “One last PartyLite show.” “Are you seriously working the day before your due date,” Dave asks her. “There’s no maternity leave when you own your own business,” Nicole retorts, without looking up.

10:59 p.m. – Nicole finishes her work, puts her laptop away and then sits down next to Dave on the couch and says, “You know, I don’t think there’s anything left to do.” Dave adds, “Except, you know, actually have the baby.” “Yes, and that,” Nicole says. Dave wonders if the psychological comfort of having her mother arrive could somehow trigger the labor. But being a thoroughly modern man, who reads the newspapers, Dave swiftly dismisses such an unscientific, and therefore implausible idea.

11 p.m. - Nicole says she feels "uncomfortable." Dave says he feels uncomfortable, too, but mainly because Rex is walking around with his shirt off. Nicole says that’s not what she’s talking about.

11:20 p.m. – Nicole continues to get progressively "uncomfortable" and is unable to sit on anything except the big red exercise yoga ball. Nicole also begins getting irritable, and slowly begins to find Dave’s joke not amusing. Dave knows that something *must* be going on, because his material is solid.

11:35 p.m. – Nicole's stomach begins hardening as her uterus, the giant muscle that it is, is contracting. Dave thinks it feels freaky. He gets out his cell phone to send out a pre-written text message to the four distribution lists he had set-up on his phone earlier in the week. Nicole tells him to put his phone away. “We don’t know anything. I don’t even know what’s going on. This is between me and me.” Dave makes the wise choice to put his phone away.

11:51 p.m. – Dave decides on his own initiative, without any permission from Nicole at all, to call Labor & Delivery at Kaiser. He talks to Monique, the RN in charge of the floor. Monique wanted to make sure that Nicole’s contractions were not caused by dehydration. “Dehydration?” Dave thought. “The woman is full-term. What do you think she’s doing? Running marathons?” Dave did not actually say that out loud. He does not often joke around when dealing with medical people. To be sure it wasn’t false uterine contractions caused by dehydration, Monique told Dave to have Nicole drink three large glasses of water in 15 minutes.

11:54 p.m. – Dave goes to the kitchen, pours three large glasses of water. He is mildly pleased with himself at the degree of his helpfulness at this point.

Saturday, July 21st, 2007

12:06-12:21 a.m. - Nicole downs 3 large glasses of water. Per previous note, she glares at Dave when he stands on the bed, pumping his fist and chanting, “Chug, Chug, Chug!” Dave now knows for sure something *must* be wrong because come on, people, that’s funny.

12:25 a.m. – Following the instructions of Monique, Nicole moves red yoga ball into the shower and gets in. Monique advised to let the cascading waterfall of warm water attempt to soothe and relax Nicole. “Her body is getting ready to expel something the size of a small watermelon through something the size of a lemon,” Dave said. “How soothing and relaxing do you think warm water is?” Again, Dave did not actually say this out loud.

12:38 a.m. – Dave calls Margarita Heuser, the nurse in charge of Labor & Delivery at Kaiser (who also happens to be a member of FCC). He is not sure why he’s calling her. She advises him to tell Nicole to drink 3 large glasses of water and then take a warm shower. Dave figures she must be towing the Kaiser party line.

12:55 a.m. – Nicole gets out of shower. Her contractions are getting stronger.

12:56 a.m. – Dave, who has been lying down resting his eyes, gets out of bed after getting reprimanded by Nicole.

12:57 a.m. - Honestly, what was Dave supposed to do while Nicole was in the shower? Sit on the toilet seat cover in a towel and pretend it's a Turkish steam room?

12:58 a.m. – I mean, seriously, is not “getting rest” a valid course of action for a future father to take in this situation?

12:59 a.m. – I mean, tell me if I’m way off base here.

1:04 a.m. – Dave calls Labor & Delivery to talk to Monique again. Monique tells Dave to have Nicole get dressed in pajamas and then lie down and attempt to get some rest, “The contractions might just go away or she might have the baby tonight,” Monique says. “But if they don’t go away, call us to come in when they get about 10 minutes apart.” Dave thinks this is a lot like a weatherman saying, “There might be snow and earthquakes, or there might not.”

1:05 a.m. – Nicole lies down in bed at the advice of Monique. “I really don’t think I’m going to be able to fall asleep,” Nicole says.

1:26 a.m. – Nicole wakes up, awakened by the pain of an intense uterine contraction. Dave, however, does not wake up, because he does not have a uterus, let alone one that is contracting.

1:46 a.m. – Nicole has another contraction. The contractions are still 20 minutes apart. At this point, Nicole is breathing quite heavily and is leaning over the vanity in the bathroom, gripping it as though she is going to tear it from the wall and heave it through the air.

1:59 a.m. – Another contraction. 13 minutes apart. Dave is lightly dozing. He figures he’ll get up if Nicole screams for him. But Nicole is not really making any noise.

2:09 a.m. – Another contraction. 10 minutes apart. Nicole is now breathing quite heavily and its clear that the intensity of the contractions is getting stronger. She tells Dave that she’s lost track of the time, but that she thinks the contractions are about 10 minutes apart.

2:18 a.m. – Dave calls Monique in Labor & Delivery. Monique tells Dave to bring Nicole in. He figures it’s now safe to send out the text message to the four distributions lists.

2:19 a.m. – Dave wakes up Terry. He also puts the yoga ball and Nicole’s pre-packed hospital bag in the trunk of the car. Adrenaline pushes through Dave’s veins. He was made for this! Get ready to rumble!

2:24 a.m. – Nicole finally finishes putting on her slippers. Dave realizes this process may take longer than he thought. Nicole’s contractions are now like playing “Red Light, Green Light.” When she’s *not* having contractions, you can move. When she is having contractions, all persons must immediately cease all movement, or they will be dismembered. This makes it particularly difficult to move, say, down a long hallway toward the Toyota Camry in the garage.

2:25 a.m. – Nicole moves out of the bathroom in the bedroom toward the hallway. Green Light!

2:26 a.m. – Contraction by the hallway thermostat. Red Light!

2:28 a.m. – Nicole is able to move again. Green Light! She moves from the hallway into the kitchen. Gets to the kitchen table, when she feels another contraction coming. Red Light!

2:30 a.m. – Nicole moves from the kitchen table to the door leading to the garage. Green light!

2:31 a.m. – Nicole is in the garage! Dave puts up the garage door to realize that Terry and Rex’s rental car is blocking the way. “I’ll move it, lickity-split,” Dave says, and runs around the front of the car. Just then, Nicole has a contraction. Red Light!

2:33 a.m. – The contraction has passed! Dave runs to go get Rex’s keys. Rex roused from sleep, quickly hands them to Dave. Dave races down the hall, through the kitchen, into the garage. Just then, Nicole feels another contraction coming. Red Light!

2:35 a.m. – Dave moves Rex’s blue Plymouth Cruiser out of the driveway in record time. Terry gets in the backseat of the Camry. Dave opens the door for Nicole. Another contraction! Red Light! This is fun! Not really!

2:39 a.m. – Finally get Nicole in the car. The three begin the 3-minute trek to Kaiser. Dave drives carefully, but swiftly. Dave knows that if Nicole has another contraction, he will probably have to stop the car.

2:41 a.m. – Red Light! No, I mean, an actual red light. But no one is coming and if Dave stops and waits, he may never get to the hospital. Dave runs the red light. The adrenaline surge from this forbidden act is electric.

2:45 a.m. – The three arrive at Kaiser. Nicole is now really in pain. A medical assistant from the Labor & Delivery wing comes down with a wheelchair, and attempts to wheel Nicole around, but every time a contraction comes, Nicole has to stand up. The medical assistant reaches out to touch Nicole. Dave instinctively steps back. You mess with the bear, you get mauled, you know what I’m saying. But in a Zen moment, the assistant massages Nicole’s lower back, in precisely a way that helps and relieves pain. Dave thinks that they must have a whole course on this in med school.

2:50 a.m. – Nicole, Dave, Terry and the Medical Assistant are now in the elevator. Another contraction comes and Nicole stands up. The magic massaging medical assistant rubs the small of Nicole’s back, and then leans in an tells her to “ride that wave.” Dave almost laughs out loud. He thinks of other sayings that would be equally fun to say in such a situation, such as “chase that beast” or “slay that dragon.” Dave wisely decides not to share these ideas.

2:53 a.m. – The elevator doors open, and Dave helps Nicole into the hallway. He can see the entrance to Labor & Delivery. For the first time, Dave begins to get a bit worried. The last time this happened (when Justus was born) Nicole was in about this much pain, and she was already dilated at 7 cm. The anesthesiologist was barely able to get the epidural in. In addition, Nicole had tested positive for Strep B, a bacteria that could be transmitted to the baby through the blood in her uterine walls and so they had to set up a drip IV to get the baby antibiotics before Nicole could push. All this takes time, and the way that things were going, Dave wondered if there is enough time for all that to happen.

2:55 a.m. – Nicole and Dave are put in Recovery Room 3 because there are no delivery rooms available. Nicole immediately goes over to an adjustable table and leans on it. The admission nurse asks Nicole her Social Security Number. Shockingly, in the midst of agonizing pain, Nicole is able to rattle off the number. Dave thinks science really should look into that.

2:56 a.m. – Monique tells Nicole that she has to lie down on the bed so that they can determine how dilated she is. The medical assistants hand Dave Nicole’s clothes. Dave looks up and realizes his wife is not in her pajamas anymore, but is in a hospital gown. Dave is astounded. When did they have time to change Nicole’s clothes? How did they do this without him noticing? It is then that Dave begins to theorize that perhaps Kaiser hires ninjas.

2:57 a.m. – Dave notices for the first time that there is a woman in Delivery Room 3 and her husband, who is sleeping on the floor. The woman is not in active labor. A medical assistant comes in and begins to move this woman and her husband into another room. Monique continues to insist that Nicole lie down to be examined.

2:58 a.m. – Nicole agrees to lie down. But just as she does…

2:59 a.m. – Another giant contraction comes in. Nicole stands up, and suddenly, there is a giant splash, as though someone threw a water balloon at Nicole’s feet. Obviously, those kinds of shenanigans don’t happen in Delivery Rooms, so Dave comes to the quick conclusion that it must mean that Nicole’s water broke. The Hospital Ninjas leap into action, and 5 or 6 come out of nowhere pulling in machinery and bringing in supplies. On a side note, Dave briefly laments that when her water broke, Nicole was wearing the new plush comfortable slippers that Dave had bought her as a present. Dave wonders if Tide gets out amniotic fluid.

3:00 a.m. – After that doozy of a contraction had passed, Nicole agrees to lie down and be examined by Monique. The last time her water broke with Justus, Nicole was about 7cm. Dave wishes the epidural guy would hurry up.

3:01 a.m. – Monique examines Nicole. “She’s at 10 cm, and the baby is at plus 2 position,” she yells out. “10 centimeters!” Dave says. “What about the epidural.” “Epidural?” Monique says. “We don’t have time for an epidural. In 10 minutes, this baby is going to be born.” Dave nearly faints.

3:02 a.m. – Near panic sets in for the Tieche family. Okay, maybe not Nicole, but definitely Dave. Chris, the nurse midwife who will be delivering the baby, steps into the room, all scrubbed up. “Okay, let’s have this baby,” she says. “I don’t know what to do,” Nicole said. “When the next contraction comes, you’re going to push,” Kris said. “Okay,” Nicole said. Dave just stood there, wondering maybe if he could get an epidural.

3:03 a.m. – Massive Contraction During the Pushing Phase (MCDPP) 1 gets ready to hit. Nicole grabs Dave’s hand. Dave wasn’t ready. In training, Dave had learned to only give Nicole two fingers; otherwise, with the freakish strength accompanying her adrenaline surges, Nicole could pulverize Dave’s hand. Especially if he was wearing his wedding ring. Dave now has four seconds to remove his wedding ring and give his wife his hand. If he doesn’t, Dave might have to experience mild sharp pain for a minute. Maybe longer. Will he make it? Will he?

3:04 a.m. – He does. Nicole pushes. “The baby’s head is crowning,” Kris tells Nicole. “It really burns,” Nicole says. Dave wonders to himself, “Burns? Burns how? Burns like an actual burn, or like a deep muscle cramp?” Later, his mother-in-law would tell him that it feels as though everything is ripping apart down there. Yeah. That would burn.

3:05 a.m. – Massive Contraction During the Pushing Phase (MCDPP) 2 gets ready to hit. Nicole braces herself. When it hits, she grabs Dave’s hand and squeezes with a force that would make the Incredible Hulk look like a schoolyard sissy. Dave still has the bruise. Seriously.

3:07 a.m. – Massive Contraction During the Pushing Phase (MCDPP) 3 hits. The baby’s head, which is the biggest part of the body, is pushing its way out. This is the most difficult part of the delivery and for the first time, Nicole yells in pain. The baby’s head and right shoulder are now out.

3:08 a.m. – Nicole lays back. “One more push, and the rest of the baby will come out,” Kris tells Nicole. “One more push!”

3:09 a.m.—Nicole gets ready for Massive Contraction During the Pushing Phase (MCDPP) 4. MCDPP4 comes. Nicole pushes. Now the baby’s abdomen is out. All that is left are the legs and feet.

3:11 a.m. – Massive Contraction During the Pushing Phase (MCDPP) 5. The baby comes out the rest of the way. Nurse Midwife Kris puts the baby on Nicole’s chest.

3:12 a.m. – Dave and Nicole realize that in all the excitement, they didn’t check to see if they had a boy or a girl.

3:13 a.m. – Dave lifts up the leg of the baby, and moves the umbilical cord. The first sentence that he said out loud when Justus was born was “I see a penis.” This time, his first sentence is “There are lots of folds and wrinkles.” Terry fills in the blanks, proclaiming, “It’s a baby girl!”

3:14 a.m. – Terry and Dave cry a little bit. Nicole is busy, you know, passing the placenta.

3:15 a.m. – Dave cuts the umbilical cord. The doctors hand the baby girl to Nicole and Dave kisses his wife on the forehead. The new addition to the Tieche family has arrived. Dave has never been more proud of his wife. He wonders if it’s possible to be more proud of a person. He also wonders if maybe he can get something for his hand. Seriously, it kind of hurts.

First Day of School...

I've been going through a bit of a funk lately, especially after getting back my student's AP English scores from this past year. I don't want to go into it, but the pass rate was miserable. In the teens.

So, obviously this means that I'm a horrible teacher. The administrators aren't saying that, of course, but I kind of feel that they're thinking it. So that made me go into a bit of a tailspin, questioning and doubting my cause, my purpose and in general, feeling pretty darn worthless, especially from a vocational standpoint. I mean, I'm hired to do something and I can't do it. And it wasn't like I didn't try. I just...didn't.

So that has been hard. And last night before the first day of school, I spent a lot of time praying. In my small group, we're watching this sermon series from LifeChurch.tv, called the Life Development Plan. The pastor, Craig Groeschel, talked about how everyone arrives somewhere, but not everyone arrives somewhere on purpose. I have been thinking a lot, as I approach my 30th birthday, what my life is all about. What am I supposed to do? Are there "good" things that I've been devoting myself to? Are those things preventing me from doing something "great?" What does that even mean, to be great? I want my life to matter. In the Bible, they talk about is God's glory. In the Hebrew, the word "glory" could also be translated into this idea of having "weight." God is heavy. You know when He's around. He impacts you. I want to be a person who has weight. One of those people who walk into a room and make a difference.

So I tried something different with my junior class. It's one of my tougher classes to get through to. The first day of school is nothing but taking role, and teachers handing out green sheets, which is basically a list of class expectations and rules and policies, which looks identical to the list of every other teacher's list of expectations and rules and policies. It's stunningly boring.

By third period, the kids were already looking brow-beaten. The came in, and sat down. The bell rang, and I quickly took role.

"Are you going to pass out a green sheet," one of the more conscientious kids asked.

"We're going to do something different," I said. "Follow me."

I then walked out the door and led 32 kids outside. Out back, behind our school, we had these 32 small temporary buildings called "the lower portables." I say temporarily in the same way that Fidel Castro is temporary. They've been behind our school since 1982. Well, this past summer they got bulldozed as part of our renovation plan. I mean, they were levelled. That area is now just a big dirt hole, about the size of a football field. So I took my third period class out to the fence surrounding the construction area.

"Okay," I said. "Quick question. What used to be out here?"

"Portables," someone said.

"That's right," I said. "Is there anyone new here to this school? Anyone who this is their first day of school here?"

A girl in the side raised her hand. She looked like one of the stars from Laguna Beach. Bleached hair. Trendy skirt.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Sam," she said.

"Can someone tell Sam what those portables were like," I said.

"Oh man," said one hyper kid named Michael, a white kid with dyed black hair styled up like a punk-rock star. "They were freezing in the morning because they didn't have heaters and then in the afternoon, you'd fry."

"And they had those nasty curtains that smelled," a girl named Yessina added.

"Someone told me that water got under the floor and there was all this mold, and that's why it smelled," a tall kid named Kenny said.

"And they were dusty," someone said.

"And there were cockroaches," a girl said.

Everyone groaned a bit in disgust.

"That's true," I said. "How many of you liked those portables, liked having class in them?"

No one raised their hands.

"Let me tell you," I began. "The reason I am a teacher is because my experience in high school was a lot like those portables. It was ugly, and dirty and nasty and not a whole lot of fun. Some of you know exactly what I'm talking about. For some of you, school isn't a really fun place. It's a place where you go to, because if you didn't the police would come to your house, but truth be told, you don't enjoy it. It's not fun. You don't learn. And sometimes, you feel as though the teachers don't even believe in you."

"Some of you have had teachers that have gone out of their way to let you know that they think you're stupid. And you suffered for an entire year, just sitting in your desk, wasting hour after hour.

"Some of you hate English. You dread it more than anything because you're terrified that someone is going to ask you to read something out loud, and then everyone will hear that you don't read super well. English might not even be your first language. There might be another language people in your famiyl speak at home, and sometimes, English is hard. Maybe really hard. So you've never liked it. Some of you, you've never even read one whole book your entire life.

"Here's what I want to do. I want to tear down those portables. I want to rip out those old conceptions of what school is, what English is, what a classroom is, and I want to build a new building. That's what I'm committed to. A new kind of English class. Where you learn, and want to read, and we talk and we debate and you think and you know that when you say something, everyone in the class is listening and everyone is interested.

"I want to tear down those portables. They're smelly and stinky and it's about time someone came in with a bulldozer, anyway.

"But I'm going to need your help. You see, tearing something down is a lot of work. You know how much a foot of concrete that's one and a half inches thick weighs? Almost 20 pounds. That's 12 by 12 by 1.5. Think how big an entire wall is. And this whole yard was filled with dump trucks. Thousands of pounds.

"So you need to do two things this year. That's all. Just two things. Let me tell you what they are.

"First off, you need to respect me. I'm the teacher. There are things I know that you don't know. That doesn't make me better - because there are things you know that I don't know - it just means that I'm in charge. It's my job to run this class. Just like it's a head coach's job to get the football team to win. So if I tell you to run, you run. And you don't complain. And you don't whine. Because if I tell you to run, it's for a good reason. Because if we don't run, we don't win. I'm committed to you. I need the same level of respect back from you.

"But there's one more thing you have to do. And this is a lot more important than respecting me. You decide not to respect me, I can deal with that. I'm not that caught up in myself. But there's one thing that will just set me off. Make me go ballistic. And that's if you decide not to respect yourself.

"You decide to not respect yourself, I will be up in your grill faster than you can think. If I start to hear you say things like, "I can't do that," that tells me you don't respect your own intellectual ability, and I'll be all over you. If you say something like, "I don't want to do that," that means that you have settled for mediocrity, and have decided that your academic potential isn't a goal worth reaching for." And I will not accept that. And if you start to slack off, and decide not to do your work, I'll know that's a sign of a person who put having fun as a higher priority than their own knowledge. And I won't accept that.

"I will not accept you behaving in a way that diminishes your full potential. And if I see those attitudes, the second they pop up, I'm going to be playing whack-a-mole. I take you too seriously to let you look at yourself and see anything less than greatness. That doesn't mean getting As. It means doing the best you can. It means taking what you have and going as far with it as you possibly can."

The class stood in a circle, looking at me.

"Look at that field," I said, pointing to the area. "Right now, it's just dirt. But when you leave my class next spring, there will be something built there. And at the end of your junior year - this is what I commit to you - we will have built something, too. In your minds. In your character. In your ability to think, reason, debate, discuss and get along as a community."

I turned to Michael.

"There. That's my green sheet."

As the students slowly filed their way back into the building, Michael came up beside me.

"That was a good green sheet," he said, patting me on the shoulder. "But I'm a bit concerned about what your tests are going to be like. We don't have to drive any heavy machinery, do we?"

And that...is why I teach.

Why Teach?

So I was asked to write an article for my school district's teacher newsletter. This is what I came up with. For those of you who are teachers or nursers or counselors or pastors or anyone whose life involves pouring into kids that aren't your own, this one goes out to you.



Why Teach?
By David Tieche

A couple of weeks ago, I went out into my backyard and assembled this very complex, semi-large play structure for my son, Justus, who just turned one. My son can’t even walk yet, let alone swing or go down slides, but I’m thinking ahead. I’m not particularly handy, and using power tools usually denigrates pretty quickly into me getting so angry, I end up cursing random pieces of wood or the inventor of the crescent wrench.

But at the end of this day-long project, I found myself feeling particularly good about myself. After all, earlier in the morning, there was nothing in the backyard. Now, there was something. That kind of immediacy – visual, tangible proof of results – makes you feel pretty good about yourself.

I started thinking about this, and I came to realize that the problem with teaching is that most of the time, you don’t immediately see the results of your labor. At the end of the day, you don’t see your kids’ neural synapses literally expanded. You don’t observe the spatial reasoning sectors of their mind light up more often. You don’t see their logic centers analyze more acutely. In fact, most of the time, you see blank looks as they rush out of your class faster than a rodeo bull when the gate opens.

Let’s be honest – more often than not our students don’t seem to be absorbent sponges yearning for the knowledge – no, the life-force!— that we offer. Most of the time, I feel like the wares I bring for sale might as well be moldy tamales.

It’s discouraging. Your kids don’t do the reading, the neglect your homework, they talk in class, and seem far more interested in the opposite sex, lunch-time and their cell phones than anything you might have to say. Kids these days. *sigh*

But then I thought back to when I was in high school. I used to skip Calculus class and go sleep in the big chair in the janitor’s closet. I hardly ever read the required novels for English class, and came to school wholly unprepared every day. And I would pretend to take notes in history, but really I’d be writing a note expressing my love to Tiffany. Or was it Amanda? Whatever.

I was a teacher’s worst nightmare, in many ways. But let me tell you, I remember things.

I remember when my government teacher had us do a mock trial, and we got to see how the legal system played out and I realized how important it was that people are innocent until proven guilty. I remember when our psychology teacher talked to us about memory, and how the brain forgets things, and how sometimes, that’s a really good thing, especially for her, because she had three miscarriages. I remember when Jose Schzymanski died when he went into a diabetic coma in his sleep and my 10th grade English teacher, Mrs. Woods came in crying and she gave us some poems about loss and just let us write and talk. She told us that sometimes, pretending that everything is okay means we’re faking it. And if we were really going to make it through life, we needed to talk about what was really going on inside us.

But most of all, I remember my 9th grade English teacher, who changed my life. Our assignment was to rewrite a traditional fairy tale, and I wrote this story about a clockmaker who had some help from some magical elves. It was called “So Many Clocks, So Little Time.” And Mrs. Gardetto called me up to her desk and said six words that changed me forever. She said, “You have a way with words.” Okay, that’s six words. There’s a reason I teach English, not Math.

Here’s my point. The seeds we plant might not be visible now. And it might take years for those suckers to pop through the soil. And it might not happen for every kid. But we have the power of life and death in our words, and in our classrooms. We have a bunch of kids captive for an hour of their lives every day, which – sadly- in some cases, is more time than they have with their real mom or dad. A lot can happen in an hour.

My mom –who was a kindergarten teacher for 32 years – told me something once that I don’t know is true or not, but it should be. She told me that in the 50s, in the USSR, some of the highest paid professionals were professors and teachers because the Russian government knew that the future of the country rested in the hands of teachers. She said that is why she taught.

I think, in part, it’s why all of us have chosen to do this. So thanks. Thanks for being a teacher. Thanks for being a history maker. Thanks for putting in the hours and caring and working and dealing with teenagers. And I guarantee, you might not be around to hear it, but some day, your students will thank you, too.